“Talk me through it.”
“Henry Alexander is an ex-employee of my father’s. He was exited in a hurry just after he’d had a stroke. It wasn’t like my father to treat a loyal employee so callously. I’d like to know if there is more to it.”
He lifts his head. “Why do you care?”
I wet my dry lips. “His daughter works for me, and I sense something has happened. I’d like to understand what’s going on, to know if I need to revisit his case. If we should’ve done more.”
He places the documents on his lap, leans back, and stares at me. “I’ll do it—on one condition.” I wait for him to continue. “You come to dinner on Sunday. It would mean the world to Abby.”
“You two gossip like a couple of old women,” I grumble.
He shrugs. “We tell each other everything, and she’d be delighted you came to me today.”
“You can’t tell her or anyone.”
He begins rummaging through the paperwork again. “I never divulge details of the stuff I’m working on. My reputation rests on my discretion.”
My shoulders relax. “Fine. I’ll come to dinner.”
His eyes pop wide as he pulls out the photo of Demi. I slide my suddenly sweaty palms over my thighs, waiting for his reaction.
“Shit.” He brings the picture closer, examining it in more detail. “Abby wasn’t kidding. They are so incredibly alike.”
“It’s not what you’re thinking.”
He lifts his gaze to me. “Hey, I’m a judgment-free zone.” His lips kick up. “But Anderson is going to flip his shit when he sees her. Hope you’ve got big balls, Charlie boy, because you’re going to need them.”
CHAPTER 9
Demi
“Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Reed, and apologies again that Mr. Barron couldn’t be here.” I shake the man’s hand as we wait for the elevator to arrive.
“Emergencies happen, and if he hadn’t been called away, I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of your lovely company.”
The elevator pings, and the door opens. “I’ll be sure to update Mr. Barron, and I’ll be in touch.”
He nods affably. “I look forward to hearing from you. Please reiterate my eagerness to work with Barron Banking and Financial Investment Services.”
“I will pass the message on.”
I wait until the doors have closed before returning to my desk.
“What the hell are you thinking?” Margaret Ann whispers as she leans over my desk.
I glance around quickly, but no one is in earshot. “I know Mr. Fleming is keen to review Simon Reed’s proposal. Charlie had an emergency,” I lie. “So, I covered for him. It’s no biggie.”
“You could get fired for this!” She shakes her head. “It’s not your place to conduct meetings in place of the president.”
“I’ll only get fired if someone rats me out.” I drill her with a pointed look.
“You know I won’t say anything, but anyone could’ve spotted you with him in the conference room.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Truth is, the man showed up an hour early for the meeting, narrowly missing Charlie, and I didn’t have it in my heart to turn him away.
To be honest, I was also grateful for the distraction. I’ve been a basket case since the appointment this morning.
Dad’s physician isn’t very optimistic about his chances of survival. Without the experimental drug, he said Dad has three to six months left to live.
Pain stabs me in the heart as I recall his words and his confirmation that we need two hundred K to participate in the drug trial. Our fundraising plans seem pitiful now. There is no way I can raise that kind of money in time. I’ve been wracking my brains all day to come up with a solution, but short of robbing a bank—pun intended—we’re all out of options.
I somehow managed to hold my tears at bay this morning, but as soon as I’d dropped Dad off at home, I drove to the office and broke down in my car in the parking lot.
I know I looked a mess when I rocked up to work, and maybe, I should’ve taken Charlie up on his offer to go home, but I can’t face Dad. Can’t face what I know he’s going to say. He will put me first, like he always does, and I can’t let him console me when he’s the one who is dying.
Subconsciously, I think I took that meeting, in part, because it will delay the inevitable. Danny is visiting Dad tonight, so I can stay late and type up a post-meeting report. Charlie will probably freak when he finds out what I’ve done. Until he calms down and realizes I’ve done him a favor.
“Be careful, Demi,” she murmurs. “I know how much you need this job, and people are already gossiping about you and the boss man.”
“They are? Why?” That’s news to me.
“He’s different with you.”
“He hates me.”
“There’s a fine line between love and hate.” Her eyes twinkle with mirth. “Besides, someone who hates you doesn’t notice, and indulge, your weakness for chocolate muffins.” She squeezes my shoulder before walking back to her workstation.
Charlie handing me that did surprise me even if I didn’t show it because I was numb at the time. But it was a thoughtful gesture.
I dig into the muffin as I review my notes from the meeting, along with the materials Simon Reed brought with him. He’s also emailed me his presentation, and I print a copy to give to Charlie tomorrow along with my report and recommendations.
I’m immersed in my work, putting my finishing touches to the file I’ve prepared, long after everyone has left the office, so I don’t notice Charlie returning. It’s well after seven, and I presumed he’d called it a night. He always leaves early on a Monday to attend to some regular appointment.
“Demi. What are you still doing here?” he asks, stopping by my desk. He’s lost his jacket and tie, and the sleeves of his pristine white dress shirt are rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his tan, muscular arms.
“I stayed late to finish a report,” I say, scurrying to put the printed material into the folder before he sees. But it’s too late, because his gaze lands on the presentation, and his brow instantly puckers.
“What is this?” he demands.
I bite on the inside of my cheek as pressure settles on my chest. “Mr. Reed arrived early, a couple of minutes after you left, actually. It felt rude to turn him away. And I’m aware of how eager the board is to hear the details of his proposal.” Charlie knows I type up the minutes from the board meetings. My throat is parched, and I wet my dry lips. “So, I met with him, took notes, and asked questions, and I’ve just typed up a proposal. I was planning on giving it to you tomorrow.”
He stares at me, wearing that nonchalant mask, and as the seconds tick by, my heart rate accelerates, blood pounds in my ears, and I’m scarcely breathing.
He’s going to fire me for insubordination. For overstepping the mark.
After what feels like eternity, he finally speaks. “Do you need to leave? Or could you talk me through it now?”
“You’re not mad?” I stupidly blurt.
His lips thin. “I didn’t say that. I’ll reserve judgment for now.”
“I just need to print this last document. I’ll follow you in.”
He bobs his head before entering his office. I print the report with shaking hands, urging myself to calm down. I need to keep a cool head to talk him through this and pray he doesn’t can my cheeky ass.
I double-check I have everything I need before stepping into the lion’s den.
Charlie is quiet and attentive as I talk him through it, outlining the benefits of the system and how I believe it will cut regulatory processing times in half, thereby adding to the bottom line. I provide the quick cost assessment I’ve prepared along with a list of references Simon emailed to me after the meeting. While his current clients are smaller in size and scope, it seems he has the capacity to scale, provided we assign the appropriate IT and business management resources to work on the implementation.
; Silence filters through the air when I finish. Charlie drums his fingers on the desk, looking pensive as he stares at me. I wait with bated breath for him to say something. When he does speak, I’m completely caught off guard.
“Have you eaten?”
I blink repeatedly as I stare at him. He arches a brow when I don’t reply. “Ah, does the muffin count?”
He stands, swiping his keys. “No. I’m taking you to dinner.”
My brows knit together and I stay rooted in my seat. “What about my report?”
He extends his hand. “We can discuss it while we eat. I’m starving.”
I take his hand in a bit of a daze, letting him haul me to my feet. He watches as I switch off my computer, grab my coat and purse, and follow him to the elevator. I stare straight ahead as the elevator lowers, wondering what the heck is going on.
When we reach the parking garage, I turn left, in the direction of my car. “I’ll drive,” Charlie says. “You can leave your car here overnight, and I’ll send someone to pick you up in the morning.”
“I’d rather follow you,” I say. “I can’t stay out too late. I need to get home to my father. And I need my car in case of an emergency.”
His features soften a little. “Of course. No problem.”
I trail him out of the parking garage, all the way back to Rydeville, surprised when he pulls in to a small Italian restaurant on the outskirts of town. It’s a little off the beaten path, but I know the place. Dad took me here for my nineteenth birthday, a few weeks after the place opened. The décor isn’t much to write home about, but the food is authentic and delicious.
I park my beloved old Volvo behind Charlie’s expensive brand-new Land Rover, tapping out a quick text to Danny before I get out.
Charlie takes my hand as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, and we walk hand in hand to the door without speaking.
“Mr. Barron.” The owner, a small man with a mop of thick gray hair, greets us at the door. “We have your table ready.”
I pin Charlie with a curious look. “I called on the way,” he explains.
The restaurant is half empty, but I guess that’s normal for a Monday night.
We are seated at a small circular booth at the back. The owner takes my coat and Charlie’s jacket before handing us menus and leaving a chilled bottle of water on the table.
I skim my eyes over the menu. “The spaghetti with sausage is good,” Charlie says.
“Dad enjoyed that the last time we were here.”
“I didn’t think many people know about this place,” he supplies, pouring me a glass of water. “It’s a shame, because the food is so good.”
“It is, but the location sucks.”
He grins. “Your instincts and observations are always on point, Demi.”
Wow. That sounds remarkably like a compliment, but I’m not used to those from him, so I wonder if it’s a veiled insult. “No need to sound so surprised,” I say, sipping my water. “I do have a working brain. I was in the top ten percent in most of my classes in college.”
“I didn’t mean to insult you.” He leans forward on his elbows. “I have wondered why you took on a personal assistant position when it’s outside your field of study.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice, and it was the only open position available in the company that I could conceivably do,” I explain, as a waiter arrives to take our order. I go for the spinach and mushroom ravioli, and Charlie orders the spaghetti and sausage dish.
“Because of your father?”
I nod. “Dad was my only parent, and he always put me first. Now, it’s my turn.”
“What about your mother?” he quietly asks.
“She died from complications arising from my birth.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I had a great childhood. Dad was an amazing father, and he did his best to make sure I wanted for nothing, especially his love.”
“That sounds a lot like my parents, which is unusual if you understood the world I grew up in.”
I’m no fan of Charlie’s dad, for obvious reasons, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be compassionate. “You must miss him. I heard you were close.”
A slash of pain crosses his handsome face. “I do,” he says in a quiet voice. “Family is everything.”
“It is.” I grin, nudging his shoulder, wanting to defuse the sudden tense atmosphere and needing to wipe that sad look off his face. “Look at us getting along. You’re actually talking to me instead of biting my head off.”
“Careful, Bumbling. The night is young.”
I laugh. “You know, we don’t have to be enemies.”
He takes a drink of his water before turning his gorgeous green eyes on me. “I don’t want to be, but sometimes, it’s the easiest route.”
“Why?”
“Because indulging my feelings isn’t something I’m good at. The last time I tried, it majorly backfired.”
“You mean Abby?” I risk asking, and he nods. Silence descends, and I sip my water.
“That guy from the club,” he says. “Is he your boyfriend?”
“It’s a little late to be asking me that, don’t you think?”
He smiles, a proper, relaxed smile, and I melt at how his entire face comes alive. He slides his arm along the back of the booth behind me. “Perhaps.”
“He’s my ex,” I explain. “I don’t cheat.”
The smile drops off his face, and he removes his arm, a muscle clenching in his jaw.
Still, I’m not sorry I said it.
It’s the truth, and there’s no beating around the bush. Charlie cheated on Abby, and whatever this attraction is between us can’t lead anywhere. Because I don’t date cheaters or guys who treat me like shit, especially after intimacy. And there’s the matter of him being my boss and his father being the one who kicked my dad when he was already down.
“I know you must think the worst of me,” he says, turning to face me. “And no excuse will explain it away, but my father had just died, and I was devastated. I had no one to turn to. And then you were there, offering me comfort when I needed it. I made some bad decisions, which contributed to my father’s death.” He hangs his head, and tension bleeds into the air.
I don’t understand what he means, because I thought Mr. Barron died of a heart attack.
“The pain and guilt were crushing me,” he continues, rubbing at this chest as he gives me his attention again. “I desperately needed an escape. It was selfish and wrong, but I don’t regret it because you gave me hope that night at a time when I’d lost all faith in humanity.”
“Didn’t you regret it at all?” I ask, because honestly, if he could do that and not feel any remorse, he is not someone I want to get involved with.
“By the bucketload at first,” he says, helping to ease my discomfort. “I was unfair to you and Abby. I’m not proud of my actions, and for a while, I thought it was the reason why she was holding back.” His eyes burn with indecipherable emotion. Tentatively, he takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. Warmth seeps into my skin, embedding bone deep. “I blamed you, which was so wrong, but it was easier than facing up to my own culpability.”
“That’s why you were so mean to me.”
He bobs his head. “And then, it was just easier to continue lashing out instead of confronting my feelings.” He rubs his thumb back and forth across the top of my hand, but I’m not even sure he realizes he’s doing it.
“What are you saying?”
He shrugs, smiling nervously. “I don’t really know. You should run a million miles from me, Demi. I’m fucked up in the head.”
“You’re really selling it to me here,” I joke.
The waiter brings our plates then, and it’s the perfect moment to break up the conversation.
I miss the warmth of his touch as we separate our fingers. We eat in silence, but it’s not awkward like it was at the start. We’re both deep in thought. I’m beginning to see there is a lot m
ore to Charlie than the exterior he presents.
“I know it’s probably too late,” he says, out of the blue, “but I’m sorry.”
“For what exactly?” I ask, spearing another ravioli.
“For everything cruel I’ve said and done, and I promise things will be different from now on.”
“Why the change of heart? And why now?”
He shrugs, chewing slowly on his pasta. After he’s swallowed, he sets his fork down and scrubs a hand over his jaw. “I’ve been fighting everyone, pushing them all away, believing it’s better like that, and punishing myself because I believed I deserved it.” His chest heaves as he pauses for a couple beats. His eyes dive into mine, and he’s hiding nothing from me now. “I’m tired of fighting,” he admits, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”
“What do you want?” My voice comes out all breathy.
He brushes his thumb across my cheek. “I want to feel something real. To stop feeling like I’m the one who died.”
“Oh, Charlie.” I cup his face, and my heart aches for him. The sheer vulnerability on his face tells me he’s being one hundred percent honest right now, and I’d challenge anyone to remain cold-hearted when confronted with this truth.
Charlie is lonely. He has no one in his corner, and he desperately needs that to start believing in himself.
He presses his forehead to mine, and I close my eyes, breathing him in.
“I don’t know how to do this, Demi, and I can’t offer you much, but all I know is I need you in my life.”
I open my eyes, cupping his face. “Maybe, we need each other,” I say, thinking of the tough road ahead. “And we can figure it out as we go along.”
CHAPTER 10
Charlie
I arrive at the office, after college, the following lunchtime, feeling more nervous than the time I lost my virginity, at thirteen, to an older woman, in a room full of pervert elite looking to get their rocks off by proxy.
“Ms. Alexander,” I say, pausing briefly at Demi’s desk.
She looks up and smiles. “Mr. Barron.”
Charlie Page 9